Parsha Titzaveh/Zachor: The Purpose of Remember

It is almost Purim. It is almost time for our annual celebration of the miraculous survival of the Jewish people as the entire “known” world turned against us. That “almost” has reoccurred in history far too often, and many of us feel as if we are in the middle of the beginning of yet another one.  That “almost” began, as we remind ourselves every year on the Shabbas before Purim, when the nation of Amalek stealthily moved in behind the weary yet exultant Bnei Yisrael.

 

This week, as we read parshas Zachor after the usual Torah reading, it is important to contemplate this important word: Zachor. Why do we make an extra reading of the section of the Torah describing these events? Yes, obviously, because Hashem literally instructed us to remember what Amalek did to us, but what are we actually supposed to focus on? We must remember the choice Amalek made to fly in the face of Hashem’s obvious involvement. However, we also have to remember that even though we were easily overpowered in the physical sphere, Hashem protected us through Moshe, through the strength of the spiritual over the random strength of the physical.

 

The importance of remembering Amalek is that we must remember all of it:  Their evil deeds, Hashem’s protection, our dependence on Hashem, and, perhaps, most significantly, the fact that we as a nation are absolutely not meant to see the world as random, as lacking constant Divine intervention. We, as Jews, are meant to recognize and thank Hashem for the mercy He put in the world. Indeed, Remembering Amalek is one of six specific commandments to remember, and in all of them we can demonstrate the significant divine rachamim as well the din.

 

In this week’s actual parsha, however, Hashem commands Moshe to incorporate symbols of remembrance FOR Hashem.  This week is Parshas Tetzaveh, the parsha in which the Torah describes – in extreme detail – the clothing of the kohan gadol, and therein it is written:

 

Attach the two stones to the shoulder-pieces of the ephod, as stones for remembrance of the Israelite people, whose names Aaron shall carry upon his two shoulder-pieces for remembrance before Hashem…. Aaron shall carry the names of the sons of Israel on the breastpiece of decision over his heart, when he enters the sanctuary, for remembrance before Hashem at all times (Shemos 28:12 and 29).

 

It is interesting to note that the two places where Aaron is commanded to place the names of the Shevatim are on the shoulder-pieces and over his heart. We think of the heart in association with affection, and it was through the breastplate over the kohain gadol’s heart that Bnei Yisrael was able to receive communication from Hashem. But why place the names of the Shevatim on the shoulder pieces, on a spot often associated with bearing a burden?

 

Bnei Yisrael accepted upon themselves the Yoke of Torah out of true reverence and love for Hashem. The Torah is wonderful, but the term Yoke of Torah exists because it not only controls our lives, but it forces us, in many ways, to work hard in this world – spiritually – just as Yaakov had to fight to get to the level wherein he received the name Yisrael.

 

We are asked to Remember events such as the attack of Amalek so that, looking at the full picture, we recognize Hashem’s true control over the world, so that we remember that Hashem will save us even from the ultimate evil. Hashem asks us to place stones of remembrance in the bigdei kahuna so that when he sees the names of the twelve sons of Israel He will focus on the burden we assumed and the heart with which we strive to connect. The commentator Haamek Davar notes on Shemos 28:12: As a remembrance. In Tehillim (115:12) it is written, “Hashem has remembered us; He will bless.” This teaches us that when God ‘remembers’ the B’nei Yisrael it is in order to bless them.”

 

Hashem doesn’t need symbols to remember Bnei Yisrael, He wants the symbols to be inspiration for us to know that Hashem sees us for who we are, that Hashem remembers the foundation of our nation. And for that He blesses us. But also, in commanding Moshe to create these objects of remembrance, Hashem is, perhaps, indicating to Bnei Yisrael our best forms of advocacy: Remembering who we are, where we came from, and what that means – that we, like our ancestors, are avdei Hashem who work constantly to connect to Hashem.

 

I wish you all a meaningful Shabbas.

Parshas Tetzaveh: Spiritual Reflexology

Dedicated l’ilui nshmas Avraham Ephraim Beryl ben Yaakov Halevi, my father, may he rest in peace, whose Yahrtzeit is 14 Adar.

 What sets the kohanim apart from the rest of Bnei Yisrael? Today, many scientific minds might say that the answer feels like it might be solely DNA, the ancestral traits that lead back to a single progenitor. But DNA is a blueprint to the individual elements that make up a person. We now know that people can have genetic markers for a predisposition to be a morning person or to dislike cilantro. The DNA passed down to all of the male descendants of Aaron the Kohain does give them a distinctive trait; it just isn’t physical.

 Speculatively, one could say that the genetic make-up that came straight from Aaron is a unique connection to spirituality, which he was born with. But the fact that the role of the priests was initially intended to be fulfilled by the firstborn, and then it was designated to the Leviim, and then it was given to Aaron and his sons indicates that it was not something inherent that Aaron was born with but rather that there was some form of transformation…

 I will gladly state that everything that follows is purely speculative. In this week’s parsha, Parshas Tetzaveh, there is a detailed description of the specific ceremony of inauguration that Aaron and his sons were to undergo. They were bathed and dressed in their very unique garb and then anointed. Once Aaron and his sons were prepared, the following karbanos took place in this specific sequence: A bull was slaughtered, its blood was applied to the altar, its fat burned, and then, after the fats, the rest of it was burnt. Then two rams were brought forward. The first ram had its blood sprinkled, but then all of it was burnt for the raiach nichoach, a satisfying aroma spirit. The second ram, however, was the source of blood that was placed on the right ear cartilage, right thumb, and right big toe of Aaron and his sons. Afterward, the Torah states: “Take some of the blood that is on the altar and some of the anointing oil and sprinkle upon Aaron and his vestments, and also upon his sons and his sons’ vestments. Thus shall he and his vestments be holy, as well as his sons and his sons’ vestments” (Shemos 29:21).

 One of the things that stands out about this ceremony is the placing of the blood on the ear, thumb, and toe.  Actually, and quite interestingly, it was noted on Aish.com that the only other place this specific ritual is mentioned is in connection to one who has recovered from tzaras and must be ritually purified. In no other place in the Torah do we have a marked physical indication of attaining a different spiritual level, except, perhaps with the means of inaugurating the kohanim. What is the connection of one who has recovered from tzaras and Aaron and his sons on the verge of attaining the kahuna, and what does either have to do with one’s ear, thumb, and toe?

 There is an alternative medicine practice known a reflexology. Its critical act is to press on specific pressure points that activate natural healing and stress relief. What is fascinating is that reflexology focuses on three main body parts – the foot, the hand, and the ear.

 The person suffering from tzaras needed healing – spiritual to affect the physical. But why were the ear, thumb, and toe significant to the kohanim? The term healing is generally connected to the dismissal or cure of an illness, but, perhaps, when we speak of healing that is connected to the spiritual, we must think of it as a rectification. The person who suffers from tzaras goes through a process of ridding himself of a yetzer hara (not THE yetzer hara, but an active aspect of it) and therefore fixes something spiritually in order to rejoin the nation. Aaron and his sons needed to rectify their spiritual essence to be ready to take on their new roles. This rectification was a transformation that they then passed on to their descendants.

 The kohanim needed an immediate spiritual transformation, but the one suffering from tzaras had to do teshuva in order to undergo this ritual. We may not be able to become Kohanim, obviously, but we can learn the importance of understanding that attaining a spiritual transformation is our ultimate goal. The mefarshim note that the ear represents listening to Hashem, the thumb represents the hand actively performing mitzovs, and the foot represents going forth to do Hashem’s will. One should not wait to fall victim to the yetzer harah but should constantly strive to bring about their own spiritual transformation.

 Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Titzaveh - The Significance of Color

Small children often think, perhaps jokingly, that the lives of their parents or grandparents was once in black and white, like the old pictures. It is a cute joke or a sweet inquiry on the part of naïve children who believe that all grown-ups are old and color is a modern day invention. In some ways, however, thinking of the past as a monochromatic world is not limited to children. It is not just the fact that our own personal memories are more subdued than real life. The 21^st century feels bright and vibrant and pulsing with attention seeking behavior. Every step “forward” in technology feels like it changes the spectrum of the life we live. In 2019, there was an article about students at MIT creating “the blackest black,” and, in 2020, there was an article about students at Purdue creating the “whitest white”; we seem to believe that we actually have the power to create improved color.

 

And so it is that we often think of the ancient past in faded tones. We have a natural instinct to think of the men and women wandering in the dessert dressed in neutral tones, in grays and tans and beiges. Parshas Titzaveh, however, reminds us that the most spiritually elevated of our ancestors was swathed in lush color. The garments of the kohain gadol were not somber, but rather were richly worked with blue and purple, crimson and scarlet, and, of course, gold. The Choshen Mishpat was deliberately stones of different colors.

 

So what? It isn’t particularly revealing that they created color in the wilderness, that the Mishkan and the bigdei kahuna (priestly garments) were designed to be beautiful. What can we of the 21^st century learn from this? We aren’t building the Mishkan. We have token kibbudim (honors) for those we recognize as kohanim since we do not have the Beis Hamikdash. And we have no kohein gadol for whom to produce magnificent garb. Perhaps, however that there is a reminder of the basic Jewish value of embracing and creating beauty. This is not an aspiration of art for art’s sake or fashion for vanity, but art and clothing for elevation. Hashem wants us to emulate His ability to create. In many people, it is a driving force of their neshamos.

 

From an outside point of view, particularly in our “advance technological age” with its flashing lights and blackest blacks, the religious world looks austere. It looks old-fashioned and thus muted. In many ways, our own communities strive for that appearance as a contrast to the outside world. And it is a value of our nation to maintain a separate identity, a distinguished appearance that sets us apart and maintains our traditions.  

 

In some ways, however, our traditional communities have been creating their own blackest blacks and whitest whites. When we learn about the flash and color of the bigdei of the kohain gadol and the Mishkan itself, there is, perhaps, a reminder, that color is beautiful. Color brings joy and joy brings gratitude and seeing dignified, richly hued clothing, like seeing a glorious sunset or a beautiful rose, provides an opportunity to thank Hashem for the pleasure of sight.

 

In describing the clothing of the kahain gadol, Parshas Titzaveh also details the creation of the choshen, of the breastplate that bore twelve precious stones. Each stone represents a different tribe, and each stone had its own unique color and characteristics  - and it is interesting to note that some of the stones are multi-colored. The beauty of the Jewish people is our diversity within the same world, how there are “70 faces to the Torah.” We all share the same goal, the desire to serve Hashem and to elevate the world we live in, but how we do that is unique. Those unique shades of being, the colors of who we are, are what represent our people at its most elevated state.

Parshas Tetzaveh: Object of Intention

The parsha of Tetzaveh is one of the parshiot that is laden with detail. From which fabrics to use to how to layer the different garments, Tetzaveh is all about the clothing of the Kohanim and the Kohein Gadol (priests and high priests). Among the descriptions of the special uniform of the Kohain Gadol, the Torah mentions the tzitz, the showplate that was strapped around the turban-like hat of the High Priest.

“And you shall make a showplate of pure gold, and you shall engrave upon it like the engraving of a holy seal: Holy to the Lord.” And you shall place it upon a cord of blue wool and it shall go over the cap, and it shall be opposite the front side of the cap. It shall be upon Aarons’ forehead, and Aaron shall bear the iniquity of the holy things that the children of Israel sanctify, for all their holy gifts. It shall be upon his forehead constantly to make them favorable before the Lord” (28:36-28). 

 

The idea of a gold plate sounds befitting for a high priest’s garb, particularly engraved with the words “Holy to Hashem.” Adornments to the head are important because of their visibility, and the Kohein Gadol should appear glorious and sanctified. But the third verse, pasuk 38, informs us that there was something far more significant about the tzitz, and it is easy to miss. After announcing that the tzitz rests upon Aaron’s forehead, the pasuk asserts that Aaron will bear the iniquity of the holy things that the children of Israel sanctify.

   

If you read that slowly, then you are probably slightly perplexed, or possibly assuming that something was typed incorrectly. (It was not.) The power of the tzitz when worn by the Kohein Gadol was to spiritually uplift that which Bnei Yisrael dedicated to Hashem – not to spiritually uplift Bnei Yisrael but the items that they brought!

   

Spiritual purity and impurity is a very complex concept, especially when applied to inanimate objects. A thing has no will and no intent. The person who owns the object does. Like certain forms of spiritual impurity, the intent of the possessor of an item can transfer to the item itself.

   

One might think that any object donated to the Mishkan or the Temple would have been given only with the best intentions; If not a heartfelt desire to connect to Hashem then at least an earnest will to fulfill a mitzvah. This is an ideal, but let's be honest about human nature. One can think of hundreds of situations when a good deed or a proper act has behind it a suppressed alternate emotion. This is not the person's primary motivator, although it can be, but rather those more subtle thoughts and emotions that a person usually refrains from speaking about.

   

For example, ideally everyone donated to the Mishkan with only the interest of building a dwelling place for Hashem. But, even voluntary offerings can come laced with alternative motives, such a desire to be seen making a donation or the urge to make certain that one gives more than one’s rival. Halevai (if it only could be) that we would not even consider that this would be an issue in the days of our Wandering in the Wilderness, and yet we know, from Parshas Naso, that having no competition in giving was one of the reasons the princes all brought the exact same gift to the Mishkan.

   

Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch explains that “avon,” the Hebrew word for iniquity used in 28:38, infers something crooked. He goes on to explain that, “The positive proclamation Kodesh l’Hashem that radiates from the forehead of the High Priest over the whole of the Sanctuay gives every object in the Sanctuary the positive function of being Kodesh l’Hashem. It can remove a misconception by which, in certain conditions, sacred objects could be affected.…” The tzitz rests on the forehead, the place from which ideas could, metaphorically, be said to radiate, and the High Priest’s forehead is now adorned by a declaration of sanctification.

   

What relevance can this have for us today? We have no High Priest, and we have no Sanctuary. What we do have are continual mitzvos that are meant to draw us closer to Hashem, just as making donations to the Mishkan did. And intent can still be of wavering purity. For example, when a mishulach (tzedakah collector) comes to the door and one does not really want to deal with them right now, whether that means it is financially difficult to assist or they interrupted something important, most people swallow their annoyance and find the means to overcome the initial negative voice. A good deed done, but was it done because one wished to fulfill the mitzvah, one wished to help a fellow Jew, or was it done because one did not want to be thought of as stingy or rude?

   

We are all human. Most of us will always have to work to balance our desire to connect with Hashem against that more selfish voice, the voice of the yetzer harah, that wants to "get ahead" or preserve our image or a thousand other ulterior motives. From the Tzitz, however, we are reminded that our intentions are so significant that they do not affect only ourselves and the people with whom we interact, but even the possessions in our care.

   

The Constant Impact of the Light from Within (Titzaveh #2)

It is an interesting fact that Parshas Titzaveh does not begin at the start of a new perek (chapter), but rather with the last two verses of perek 27. This would not be particularly interesting if one chapter specifically connected to the next, but while both chapters discuss necessary objects for service in the Mishkan, Chapter 27 is focused on the altar while Chapter 28 is about the clothing of the kohanim. The last two verses of Chapter 27, however, are about the lighting of the Ner Tamid: "Now you shall command the Children of Israel that they shall take for you pure, pressed olive oil for illuminations, to kindle the lamp continually. In the tent of meeting, outside the partition that is near the testimonial tablets, Aharon and his sons shall arrange it from evening until morning, before Hashem, an eternal decree for their generations, from the Children of Israel" (27:20-21).

Pure olive oil, as it always must be in the Mishkan/Beis Hamikdash, is to be lit every evening and last until morning just outside the Holy of Holies. From a practical perspective, a light at night keeps the kodesh area protected, keeps the Cohanim from accidentally entering an area that is forbidden except on the holiest day of the year. More than that, however, it has resonance as a reminder that even at night we must be focused on our Torah, on our relationship with Hashem.

At this time of year, so close to Purim, it is almost impossible not to find an inspirational message here. The Aron containing the luchot and from whence Hashem let His voice be heard, is hidden behind the parochet, a curtain… a mask so to speak. The light outside reminds us that just because Hashem is not seen does not mean He is not there - a fact that is true especially in the darkest times. We must use the light of emunah, as Mordechai did, to illuminate the darkness.

How can this mitzvah be "an eternal decree for the generations" if omniscient Hashem knew we would have times without a Mishkan or a Beis Hamikdash? Because the Ner Tamid has deeper significance than just the light of a lamp in front of the partition before the Aron. Perhaps it is a reference to how we ourselves must light up the Torah even in an era where it seems that people are in darkness. We who love the Torah, the mitzvos, and having a relationship with Hashem must strive to live clear, open lives, like the pure olive oil, to be fuel for inspiring the world around us. This might be why the verse concludes “m’ait Bnei Yisrael,” from the Children of Israel, because it is we who must provide the fuel.

This may also provide an idea as to why these two verses were attached to the instructions for the clothing of the Cohanim. The Cohanim are to the Jewish people what the Jewish people are meant to be to the world as we have the unique goal of being a mamleches cohanim, a kingdom of priests. The garb of the cohanim is simple, yet deliberate; so too the Jewish people must present ourselves to world in a way that is deliberate but approachable - in a way that brings inspiration to others.

Hashem commands that the light be kindled from evening until morning, but it is referred to as a Ner Tamid, a continual light. One would think that a continual light never goes out. Indeed, this is the heart of the message. The actions that we take, the mitzvot that we perform with honest emunah, have the power to create inspiration throughout all time.

Place in a Role (Titzaveh)

Parsha Titzaveh is all about the Kohanim - the details of their garments and the structure of their sanctification ceremony. In Chapter 29 it is written: “And you shall cause his [Aaron’s] sons to come near, and dress them in tunics” (29:8). It is interesting that the verb used is in the causative form.

One would think by the flow of this narrative that after describing the anointing of Aaron as the high priest, his sons would be instructed to come forward in order to be anointed. Rather, they were to be brought forward. Perhaps this was meant to signify to the Children of Israel and the sons of Aaron themselves that becoming a kohain was neither a privilege nor a choice but rather a duty and an obligation.

Many people think of the role of the kohanim as a caste above the rest, but with that elevation came restrictions. In fact, to this day, some of those restrictions (relating to marriage) have led people to seek ways to de-kohen themselves.

In Sefer Bamidbar, Korach leads a rebellion on the premise that Aaron and his sons should not have taken the kahuna for themselves, but the fact that they were to be “brought forward” signals that this was not a taking, not even a receiving, but was rather a Divine appointment.

Perhaps from this one could draw the lesson that one must always be careful about judging the life position of other people, because everyone was placed into their situation by Divine Will and therefore everyone is exactly where they are supposed to be.